


i'd do it for you

by nancypants (cah_avengers)



Series: prompt fills [1]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fill, alcohol mention, when you're bad at titling just use the gayest line from the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 13:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cah_avengers/pseuds/nancypants
Summary: If I were at the alter—god forbid—about to say ‘I do’, and you walked in and told me to come with you, I would. Without hesitation.





	i'd do it for you

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is a prompt fill that ended up being longer than originally planned so I figured I'd post it here.  
> prompt #110: "Why do I still like you, knowing you're a total asshole?"  
> requested by @rainbow-mangos-of-the-tardis on tumblr

The bar is dark and the wall littered with neon beer signs bathes the room in red. That coupled with the heavy bass that rattles your heart in your chest makes the scene almost…primal. You’re not surprised to find Jacobi here. 

He’s pressed up against some man at the bar, a handful of empty shot glasses on the bar top behind them. There are spent lime wedges stuck in the glasses, salt dusted over the countertop. Tequila. You hate when Jacobi is tequila drunk.

You press through the crowd. You know there are eyes on you. You ignore them, but you like the attention all the same. 

When you reach the bar, Jacobi’s lips are dangerously close to the man’s smiling mouth. His face and hair are highlighted by blue, illuminated by the LEDs trimming the bar. The man’s face is red. You think it’s funny. Something about colors and symbolism. 

You clear your throat. “Mr. Jacobi.”

Immediately he stiffens, looks over his shoulder at you. “Maj— _Warren_. What are you doing here?” His voice is low. He’s frustrated with you.

You raise a brow. “Mr. Jacobi…weren’t you supposed to be back at our hotel an hour ago?”

The man looks confused, a little intimidated by you. Good.

“I said I was going out. Do you mind?” He jerks his head toward the doorway. Tries to shoo you away. 

You smile. “Must’ve been a miscommunication. Let’s go.” You turn and make your way toward the door. You don’t check to see if he’s following because he always follows. Even if he’s angry.

When you step outside you take a deep breath of the cool, clean air. It smells like it’s going to rain soon; it’s a good thing you came for him when you did.

A minute later, you hear Jacobi as he stumbles out onto the sidewalk, grumbling about your intrusion.

“You know. I think that guy was loaded. He bought me top shelf tequila,” he says, like it makes a difference. “So thanks for ruining that.”

You turn and look at him. “Oh? Was he going to treat you to a romantic dinner?”

He rolls his eyes, walks away from you in the wrong direction.

You catch up to him easily enough, wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Car’s this way. Come along.”

He frowns and lets you pull him in the correct direction before yanking his arm from your grip.

By the time you reach the car, you can already tell he’s softening, the anger subsiding. He’s never mad at you for long. You open the passenger door for him and push his head down before he can smack it on the roof of the car. 

Jacobi huffs, leans away from your hand once he’s settled, and your fingers slip out of his hair. 

You sit in the driver’s seat and start the car. Jacobi has slumped over against the window and his eyes are shut so you reach over, wrap your hand around the back of his neck. You can tell the alcohol is starting to get to him and the cool of your hands feels nice on his overheated skin.

It’s amusing how he tries to pretend he doesn’t like it.

“If you want to get wasted and get picked up by strangers, that’s fine. When we’re  _home_. Only a couple hours after a mission, in an unfamiliar city, however, is  _not_  okay.”

“You do it,” he says under his breath. 

“That’s different. I’m in charge. And I don’t get drunk.”

“How’d you find me anyway?”

Finally you let go of him and pull away from the curb. “I know you.”

He goes quiet and pulls his coat tighter around himself.

This is different. He’s usually a lot more talkative when he’s drunk. You should be grateful for it, but you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. 

“You mad at me?”

He laughs and you look over at him. His eyes are still closed, his cheek pressed against the window that’s now raindrops sliding past his silhouette on the glass.

“I’m not  _allowed_  to be. It’ll fade soon anyway. Always does.”

“Why is that?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” 

You know. But you say, “tell me,” anyway because he’s just drunk enough that he might.

He doesn’t tell you why. Instead, “why do I still like you, knowing you’re a total asshole?”

That…isn’t what you were expecting. “ _Like_  me?” You echo, with a hint of sarcasm. It sounds like something a teenager might say, and far too simple for what this really is.

He ignores you, keeps talking. “If I were at the alter— _god forbid_ —about to say ‘I do’, and you walked in and told me to come with you, I would. Without hesitation.”

You know you shouldn’t, but you smile at that. There’s a part of you that’s constantly itching to test the boundaries of his loyalty. It’s satisfying when he readily admits it himself.

“But you already knew that,” he sighs.

“So…you’re really talking about loyalty. Not how much you 'like me.'”

That gets him to finally look at you. “That’s not what I said. Don’t play dumb.” 

You’re both quiet for a while and you listen to the rain hitting the roof, the wipers working over the windshield. The way he’s looking at you makes you think he might just be considering finishing his night the way he intended, but with  _you_  in the stranger’s stead.

If he weren’t drunk, you’d let him.

“Are we almost there?” He sighs, looking back toward the road.

“Daniel,” you start but he cuts you off.

“We’re not talking about it. Never will.”

He has to grab the dashboard to steady himself  as you brake and pull off onto the side of the road. 

“Jesus Christ, Warren…”

“Let’s talk about it,” you say, punctuating your command by shifting into park. 

“I…are you serious? I’m drunk.”

“I know.” If you don’t talk about it now, it won’t happen when he’s sober. 

He groans and leans his head back against the head rest. “Talk about it…talk about  _what_? What do you want me to say?”

“Why would you come with me?”

“Because I…” his eyes are staring past the roof of the car, as if he can see up into the storm clouds above. 

“Just say it.”

He looks at you just for a moment then back out at the road and stretching darkness. “Because I’m in love with you.”

You know that. But hearing it in simple terms feels different than you expected it to. It hurts.

“So you go out looking for strangers to take you home?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “what else can I do?”

You shift into drive and pull out onto the road.  "You can stop with the self-destruction."

"But it's what I do best."

You get him back to the hotel in silence. He doesn't seem to care that he just said he's in love with you. But it's going through your mind on repeat. How many times have you seen that thought plain on his face when he's waiting, watching to see if you'll stay the night with him? This isn't a surprise but you feel like it should affect him more. That he should be asking you to say how you feel. Even if you wouldn't give him an answer.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He finally asks as you walk him to his room. "You're never this quiet."

"Are you going to ask me to come inside?"

"No?"

You almost want to order him to ask. "Are you going to ask me if I'm in love with you?"

He smiles. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I know the answer. Goodnight."

You want to say it just so that he'll be wrong. But do you love him? You love his loyalty. You know he'd die for you, and so would Maxwell, though their motivations are different. You love how well they preform, work as a team with you. You enjoy having them with you, even away from missions. In your home, eating the food you cook, like SI-5 isn't the only thing that holds this unit together. You understand each other. You're held together by loyalty and dependence and the same desire to achieve something. To progress. It's always felt like a solid force, unspoken, but nevertheless, constant and absolute. But right now, it feels...tenuous. Like by speaking the truth aloud Daniel has upset the balance. You have to correct it or everything will fall apart.

You place your hand on the door, keep him from shutting you out. "I love you." It feels wrong even as the words leave your mouth.

Daniel doesn't even flinch. "Mm. Took you a while to say that, huh? What's the play here? You're not trying to get me to let you in to the stay the night, are you?"

"You don't believe me."

"Of course I don't. I don't think you're capable of it."

You laugh under your breath. It's a self-deprecating laugh. Maybe you aren't capable of it. But what you feel for him is probably as close as you could come to it. "You're right."

"Yeah." He lifts his chin, looks pleased with himself.

"But," you say as he begins to close the door. He pauses and you continue, "for the record, I'd do the same."

"What are you even—"

"If you asked me to leave everything. I've done it before. I did it for Goddard. I'd do it for you."

He looks stunned, he struggles to find the words. "And uhm, would you...for Alana?"

"I don't know...possibly."

He's confused, annoyed. He looks up at you looks like he kinda wants to laugh. "You're an asshole for saying this shit when I'm not entirely sober."

"That's fair." You smile. "Goodnight, Daniel."

"Yeah...tell me again in the morning," he says as you back away toward your own room. 

"You know that's not gonna happen, Mr. Jacobi," you laugh and he rolls his eyes.

"I know."


End file.
